


The Distance Between

by Hellcat_Mary



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Children, Implied Mpreg, Kidnapping, M/M, Post-Canon, Protective Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski Loves Derek Hale, birth parent is 'mother'
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-28
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2020-03-20 18:16:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18997945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hellcat_Mary/pseuds/Hellcat_Mary
Summary: Derek looked at him with the biggest grin he’d seen since holding their baby boy for the very first time.“I heard him.”Stiles joined his family standing in the middle of the front entry, hugging his husband around the waist and resting his cheek over his son’s head right by Derek’s nose.  He smiled back.  “He was telling you we missed you.”





	The Distance Between

It was 9 PM- about an hour after he usually had the boys settled for the night- when Stiles heard the forlorn, echoing cry of his son howling.  Stiles drew in a stuttering breath, turning the kitchen faucet off and grabbing the towel from the ring next to the sink.  He closed his eyes tightly against the next sad howl.  How it croaked and wavered on strained little vocal cords.  It had been the same each night for a week.

Drying his hands, Stiles ascended the stairs towards Laurel’s bedroom. 

The green painted door was open a crack to allow a sliver of light from the hallway for bedtime.  Stiles flicked the switch to the hall light off before pushing the door open further, because little wolf eyes were sensitive in the dark.  The moonlight from the bedroom window was bright already, and Stiles could see clearly a silhouette where his little boy had pulled over his desk chair to reach the latch and open the window.

His son stood atop the plastic seat, stretched up on bare toes to see out the windowsill, moonlight shining against glossy dark hair and wet ruddy cheeks.

“Oh, Bud,” Stiles said softly, heart breaking.  He tossed the towel over his shoulder and reached his hands out as he came over.  “Hey, come down, baby.”

Laurel made a tiny ‘mm’ sound of distress and held onto the window tighter.  “Daddy,” he whined.

Stiles wasn’t “Daddy”. 

This was Laurel and Derek’s thing.  Whenever Pack business took Derek away from his children, it was hard on all of them.  On top of the normal developmental health needs of _any_ child, burgeoning werewolf traits and chaotic pack bonds meant cubs were far more emotionally dependent on their parents through these early years. 

Scott tried his best not to usurp him, but their pack was as young as they were unique, and Derek was an invaluable resource for dealing with a lot of their Supernatural issues. 

They realized when Laurel was just an infant that he somehow always knew when Derek was close to home.  Derek couldn’t be sure of exactly how far beyond the territory Laurel’s attunement really reached.  Stiles guessed it probably _wasn’t_ precisely the city limits, but their baby would go from 0 to 11 on the Fussiness meter about 40 seconds before Stile’s phone would buzz with some variation of _on my way home._

So, when Laurel was just a few months out from turning three, old enough to start mimicking a Howl like his pack family, Derek did something new. 

Stiles had expected Derek and Scott back sometime in the afternoon.  On cue, come late morning Laurel squirmed and cried and made his little puppy noises, forgetting his cheerios completely and trying to get out of his booster seat at the table.  Stiles heard the expected text notification but was occupied making sure his son didn’t bring himself, the chair and the cheerios toppling down… and then he heard it, faint but unmistakable.  He had to be _miles_ out still, but Derek had a Big Bad howl to match the rest of him.  Laurel and Stiles both went completely still.

Then he heard it again, and Laurel doubled his efforts to escape. 

Stiles picked his toddler up with a laugh, jogging with Laurel clinging to his side, up the stairs.  The windows were open through the house to let in the brisk spring air.  Stiles held his son up just inside of the window, keeping a secure grip.

“Hey, baby, that’s Daddy!” he remembers saying against a plump cheek.  “He’s telling you he missed you.”

Their little wolf responded to Derek’s next call.  Young lungs, as they usually do, holding out impressively to meet the sound the best he could.  There wasn’t a single trip after that day, that Derek didn’t pull to the side of the road the second he was in range of the city, an inscrutable joy coming from the depths of his lungs to carry loud and fierce over the distance to reach his family.

A year later into this tradition, Stiles remembers Derek walking through the door, snatching up the whirl of energy that hurdled itself across the room at his legs, and burying his nose into his son’s hair.  Stiles remembers tears in his man’s eyes, when Derek looked at him with the biggest fucking grin he’d seen since holding their baby boy for the very first time.

“I heard him.”

Stiles joined his family standing in the middle of the front entry, hugging his husband around the waist and resting his cheek over his son’s head right by Derek’s nose.  He smiled back.  “He was telling you we missed you.”

Derek and he made another baby that night.

Stiles swallowed against the tight knot in his throat, pulling Laurel from the window.  He grimaced guiltily when tiny claws caught and scraped a line across the wood.  Laurel growled, wailing and kicking, because Stiles was carrying him back into the hall.  Stiles shushed him, ignoring the pricks of pain where his son’s claws got him as he squirmed unhappily.  He was trying to be firm, but he couldn’t punish Laurel for his instincts.  

His children were hurting. _He_ was hurting so god damn bad.  His infant stayed generally unsettled and acting colicky with a distinct werewolf edge.  His older son was unable to understand why something so fundamentally set for him as _good_ was so wrong.  All his life he’d known that if he called for his daddy, his daddy came running. 

But Derek couldn’t run to them.  And Stiles didn’t fucking know where to run to get to Derek. 

The pack was overturning every rock they could.  He had tapped every FBI pipeline he could use that was remotely keyed into the Supernatural.  Every favour cashed in down to a god damn _coffee_ bought.  Calling on every resource he had – and Stiles had considerable professional resources – and no one could fucking _help._

Stiles could _not_ disappear into the night on his children to search for a trace of Derek himself.  Not until he had a solid lead; just something that would justify the inevitable guilt, and the real agony of abandonment he’d feel through his bonds when he did leave his babies behind to bring the man they loved most back home.

“Laurel, baby, please,” he implored with a tremor, rocked as always by his son’s tears.  “I know you miss Daddy.  I miss him, too, so much.  And he misses _us._ He loves you so much, I promise.”

Laurel finally stopped flopping around, but Stiles guessed his senses were still too disturbed to retract his claws by the way they dug in when little arms came around Stiles’ neck.  The child he held sobbed fat tears and snarled into his shoulder.  Stiles thinks he could hear the words “I’m sorry” muffled by drool and new fangs.  Laurel was old enough to understand that these things that grew when he was upset hurt his mother, whose skin didn’t open and close quickly like his Daddy or some uncles and aunts.

“No, no.  Baby, it’s okay.  Okay?  I’m not mad.  Just try to calm down.  You didn’t hurt me, but let’s put those claws away, okay?”  He whispered close to his son’s pointed, furry ear.  With a gesture more wolf than not, he nuzzled the side of Laurel’s head, breathing in the smell of his child to comfort them both. 

“We’re gonna go get Claudy and we’re all gonna sleep in mine and Daddy’s bed.”

The best he could seem to do lately to keep the peace was bundle them all in Derek’s scent.  It shamed him how at a loss he was with his own children.  Laurel was an articulate child, but he was worryingly regressing into a wild and agitated state, especially at night.  He was becoming less consolable with his tantrums, and –

A high wail from the very room he was headed towards seemed timed.  If Laurel was throwing a tantrum, his baby brother followed like a domino.  He walked with his eldest into the nursery.  Over the crib railing was a baby, red faced and wriggling in his onesy, blanket kicked into a roll at the bottom of the mattress. 

“Oh, Baby-Baby, you’re not too happy either, huh?” he cooed down.  He tilted his mouth back to Laurel’s ear, which was round and smooth again.  “I gotta put you down, bud, just a second.”

Laurel nodded his head ‘okay’.  When Stiles shifted his hold to let him down, he heard Laurel say without wereteeth in the way, “I’m sorry, Claudy.”

“Shhh,” Stiles hushed gently, kissing that round ear where he leaned down to set Laurel’s feet on the floor.  “We’re okay.  We’re all sad, sweetheart, but we’re gonna be okay.”

Laurel stood clutching at his mother’s pantsleg as Stiles lifted Claud from the crib.  Stiles shushed the crying infant with the same soft tones he used with Laurel, rocking slightly back and forth, supporting his head and bottom with careful hands. 

Stiles did not sleep that night.  Could not bring himself to close his eyes and lose sight of his children in the bed next to him.  He stroked his hand lightly over their heads and imagined he could hear their small heartbeats with wolf ears.  Laurel cuddled his tiny bother on Derek’s side of the bed, swaddled in a thick blanket that smelled of their father.

This was why he was awake to see the light of his phone from where it was plugged in on the bedside table.  He grabbed it quickly, silencing the buzz for his light sleepers.  He expected it to perhaps be Scott or Lydia checking in on them.  A significant part of him hoped it was one of his contacts with some new information. 

“Hello?” he answered in as quiet a voice he could manage without whispering.

It was not a contact.  It wasn’t Scott, and it wasn’t Lydia.

_“My family has your werewolf.”_

**Author's Note:**

> I am rusty and haven't posted anything since I was young enough to now be embarrassed by whatever I can still dig up online.
> 
> For now I'm just embracing this inexplicable urge to write out some ideas that have been floating around my head for too long.
> 
> I am considering this to be "complete" even thought it will probably get at least a few chapters... in the sense of pretty self-contained entries linked loosely by a bigger idea. I don't expect a huge response to this or anything, but I'd hate to get anyone's hopes up who would care.
> 
> I'm not *really* in the habit of excusing my characterizing choices, but for the record I do like the use of "mother" in mpreg fics- rarely as I've seen it. I don't really see it as gender identifying in the context of male pregnancy. If you gave birth, you are the mama.
> 
> No Beta. I do proofread and edit for grammar (but I am hella guilty of run-ons, you don't need to out me, I know) but I limit my number of revisions because I will never post otherwise. Any feedback is appreciated. Thank you for reading!


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